Friends Bring Out The Best
by Alyssa Blackbourn
Summary: "We really don't have enemies. It's just that some of our best friends are trying to kill us."  Unknown. Continued from "Her Father's Daughter". Mason is back. Neal knew he couldn't escape him. But this time, not eveyone will make it out alive...
1. Friends Bring Out the Best in You

**_"Friends bring out the best in you."  
><em>****_~Larry Ramirez_**

* * *

><p>Peter sat in his office, going over case files, the moonlight streaming in from the windows. They had just solved a case that had taken them over a week to riddle out.<p>

"Peter," Peter looked up as Neal poked his head into his office. "Jones, Diana, and I are gonna go out for some beers to celebrate. You in?"

Peter hesitated, considering. Then he shook his head. "Nah, I should get home. El will be home in an hour or two, and I want to be there when she gets home for once."

"You sure?" Neal asked. Again, Peter paused. He looked his partner over. He showed no signs of the trauma that had nearly claimed his life only five months earlier. The cast on his arm was gone, his bones had healed, and he was back to his old self, charming, sarcastic, funny, and damn good at what he did.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Peter said finally. "I'll walk out with you, though." Peter stood up and turned off the lamp on his desk, then he, Neal, Jones, and Diana left the building together.

Peter separated from the group in the parking lot. Neal hitched a ride with Jones to the bar, and Diana followed them close behind. Meanwhile, Peter set off for home. He pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later and headed inside, locking the car behind him.

As soon as he closed the front door behind him, he knew something was wrong. Satchmo didn't come to greet him like he always did when he came home. Peter flicked on the light and found his dog curled up in the middle of the living room.

"Hey Satch," Peter said, tossing his keys and briefcase onto the couch and slowly walking toward the dog. "Something wrong, boy?" Peter knelt down next to Satchmo and scratched him behind his ears. The dog didn't even react. He wasn't moving at all. "Satch?" Peter asked nervously. Just then, he heard the metallic click of a gun behind his head. He froze.

"Don't worry, Peter," The voice made Peter's blood run cold. "He's only sleeping. I would never actually kill a dog. Only a monster could do that."

"Well, don't sell yourself short, Mason," Peter said, slowly standing up and turning around. Mason had the gun aimed steadily at Peter's head. "I'd say you still fall into that category. After all, you did try to murder an eight-year-old girl."

Mason smirked slightly. "You know, I like you, Peter," he said sincerely. "You're honest." Peter simply shrugged. They were quiet for a moment. "You're going to come with me, Peter. Now."

"Oh am I?" Peter chuckled.

"Yes," Mason said matter-of-factly. "And you want to know why?"

"Enlighten me," Peter said with a smile.

"Because your wife will be home soon," Mason said with a smirk. "And I know you don't want anything to happen to her."

Peter's smile faded. His fist clenched at his side and his jaw set. And Mason knew he had him. Mason nodded and gestured towards the door with the gun.

"Grab your keys," Mason commanded. Peter did as he was told, and the two of them made their way back outside to Peter's car. Peter climbed into the front seat, and Mason got in right behind him. Peter had no doubt that he had the gun aimed at his spine through the seat.

On Mason's command, Peter started the car and pulled into the street. Before long, he had taken him away from the city, along winding back roads that Peter hadn't even known existed. Finally, they reached a small, run-down, abandoned house and Mason told Peter to kill the engine and get out of the car. Peter hesitated, then got out and faced his captor. Mason paused, as if thinking of something.

"Give me your cell phone," he said finally. Peter paused, trying to keep the defeated look from his eyes. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out his cell phone, handing it over to Mason. He took it and shoved it into his jeans pocket, then motioned for Peter to head inside. Peter slowly made his way into the house, all too aware of the gun aimed at the back of his head.

Once inside, Mason forced Peter toward the far wall of the main room. The plumbing was exposed. The whole place was falling apart. They only furniture in the place was a cot in the corner, a small table, a small dresser, a chair, and a surprisingly new TV on top of the dresser. Peter had just enough time to process all this before Mason stepped forward and slammed the gun into the back of his head. Peter grunted in pain and fell to the floor, out cold…

* * *

><p>Neal got home around midnight, exhausted and not quite drunk, but definitely slightly tipsy. He had just collapsed onto his bed when his cell phone rang. He groaned and grabbed it from the bedside table, quickly answering the call.<p>

"Hello?" he said softly.

"Hey, Neal, it's El," Elizabeth's voice was clear from the other end of the line. She sounded worried. Neal sat up in bed, suddenly on edge. "Is Peter with you? I thought he would be back by now."

"Ah, no, no…he said he was going home and then I went out for a few drinks with Jones and Diana," Neal explained.

"He's not answering his phone," El said, her voice growing more and more strained.

"I'm sure he's fine, El. I bet he went back to the office to go over more case files and has his phone on silent or something," Neal said reassuringly.

"Maybe…" El sighed.

"Just give it till morning. If he's not there by then, then you can freak out and call in the National Guard. I'll even help. Ok?" Neal said softly.

El laughed, "Ok. Goodnight, Neal. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," Neal sighed. Then he hung up, rolled over, and quickly fell asleep…

* * *

><p>Neal woke up the next morning to find the sun shining down on him through his window. <em>Wow…<em> Neal thought, glancing at the clock next to his bed. It was already eight in the morning. _I get to sleep in with no FBI interruption? That's a first…_

Neal rolled over and bolted upright in surprise, his heart racing.

"Jeez, Jessi, you scared me," Neal smiled. The little girl laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. Neal held out his arms and Jessica climbed up into the bed, giving her dad a hug. "How did you get in here?"

"June let us in," Neal looked over to see Rebecca leaning against the wall, smiling at them. "We wanted to surprise you."

"I lost my tooth, Daddy," Jessica said excitedly, showing off the gap where her upper right canine tooth used to be.

"You did," Neal said with a smile. "Did you put it under your pillow for the Tooth Fairy?"

"Mhmm, and I got a whole dollar!" Jessica said excitedly.

"Wow!" Neal laughed. "A whole dollar?"

"Yeah, see?" Jessica pulled a dollar bill out of her pocket and held it up to him.

Neal took it from her and looked at it, still grinning. "Wow, that is so cool," he said enthusiastically, making Jessica smile wider. Neal handed the dollar back to her, and she shoved it back in her pocket.

"And guess what," Jessica said excitedly, bouncing up and down on the bed.

"What?" Neal said eagerly, acting like a child himself.

"Mommy said we might get a puppy!" Jessica squealed, clapping her hands.

"Really?" Neal asked in surprise, looking at Rebecca. She simply shrugged.

"She's been asking for a long, long time. I finally gave in," she explained. Neal nodded in understanding.

"Hey, Jessi, why don't you and Mommy go wait downstairs and I'll get dressed and call Peter and see if we can't go to the park," Neal smiled.

"Ok!" Jessica said excitedly, bouncing off the bed and running over to Rebecca. She took Rebecca's hand, waved goodbye to Neal, and then Rebecca led her downstairs.

Neal slid off the bed and onto his feet, rubbing his eyes. He grabbed his cell phone off the bedside table, only to find that sometime during the night the battery had died. He plugged it into the charger and turned it on. As it powered up, he started to get changed into a suit, getting ready for the day. When he was done, he returned to his phone. There was a message on the screen: "You have 27 missed calls."

Neal looked at the message strangely. Just then, there was a knock on his door. He hesitated, then walked over to the door and pulled it open. He was surprised to see Jones standing in the doorway. When he saw Neal, he looked relieved.

"Neal," he sighed. "Thank God."

"Jones?" Neal asked, confused. "What's going on?"

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Jones asked instead of answering his question.

"The battery died," Neal explained. "Why? What happened?"

"Peter's missing," Jones said breathlessly.

Neal's eyes widened. "What?"

"That's not all," Jones continued. "Mason took him. We found his prints in Peter's house."

Neal felt like he just got punched in the stomach. "M-Mason…?" he stuttered. He had hoped he had seen the last of his former friend at the soccer field five months ago. But no, he was back. Suddenly, he felt his heart race. His brain told him Rebecca and Jessica were fine, but his heart told him to go find them. He pushed past Jones into the hallway without a word and jogged downstairs. "Rebecca?" He called. He found them in the foyer, sitting on the couch.

"Daddy!" Jessica said happily when she saw Neal come into the room.

"Hey, Jessi," Neal smiled, relieved, even though he knew all along that they were fine. Jones walked in behind him as Neal sat down beside his daughter. "Listen, Jones and I have to go, ok?"

Jessica looked defeated. "Why?"

"Well, sweetie, um…I have to go find Peter," Neal explained.

Jessica immediately perked up. "Are you playing hide and seek?" She asked excitedly.

Neal laughed slightly, and behind him, Jones smiled. "Yeah," Neal confirmed. "We're playing hide and seek, and it's my turn to be it."

"Can I play?" Jessica asked eagerly.

Neal smiled slightly. "Maybe next time, kiddo," he said, smoothing back her hair. He pulled her into a hug, while Rebecca gave Neal a knowing glance. Finally, Neal pulled away. "Mommy's going to take you home, ok? I'll see you soon."

"Ok, Daddy," Jessica agreed. She and Rebecca stood up and headed out the door. Neal watched them drive away, and then he climbed into Jones' car.

Once they were alone, Neal turned to Jones. "Jones, I–" he began. Jones cut him off.

"I already sent a unit over to their house. It should be there before they get back," Jones informed him. Neal let out a sigh.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Don't mention it," Jones shrugged, starting the car and driving off…


	2. We Don't Really Have Enemies

**_"We don't really have enemies. It's just that some of out best friends are trying to kill us."  
><em>****_~Unknown_**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Peter woke up, his head aching, with his hands cuffed around the exposed plumbing, immobilizing them both. His feet had been duct taped together at the ankles. He shifted into a sitting position and rested his head against the wall, his eyes closed. His memory was fuzzy; he couldn't quite remember what happened.

A creaking noise made Peter open his eyes and lift his head, looking around. It was then that he saw Mason. He was sitting in a chair by the front windows, his iPod headphones in his ears. He saw Peter stir out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. When he saw Peter awake, he smiled, pulling out his earphones.

"Peter," he said cheerfully, as if he were greeting a friend. "Good to see you're awake. I was beginning to worry I hit you too hard."

"Mason, you're making a mistake," Peter began. Mason cut him off.

"Maybe I am," he agreed. "But I really don't care."

"You're going to get caught," Peter continued. "You'll go to prison for the rest of your life."

"Shouldn't be too long, then," Mason smiled wearily. Peter looked at him strangely, confused. Mason continued, "I have a tumor in my brain. It's inoperable. I've got…about a month left to live, now. Maybe less. I don't care about going to jail. I'll be dead before the trial's even over. Probably before it begins."

Peter paused, processing the information. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "When'd you find out?"

"Seven months ago," Mason replied with a sigh. "They said no amount of treatment would make it better. They gave me eight months to a year. And that was optimistic." He was quiet for a moment. "I couldn't understand it, honestly…I mean, I felt totally fine…I felt better than I had in a long time. But then the doc dropped the bomb on me…" He swallowed, getting back on track. "Anyway, after I got the news, I started following through with promises I'd made. I went skydiving, hiking, and deep sea fishing with friends. I forgave people I'd been holding a grudge against. Then, when I'd done everything else, I started working on trying to find Neal. It wasn't too hard after I figured out where to look. I must say, I was shocked when I found out he was working for the FBI. Not so much that he got arrested, though. Neal always had a love of art…and money. I always knew that'd get him in trouble someday."

"If you were so intent on forgiveness, why didn't that apply to Neal?" Peter asked.

"Because he killed my sister and destroyed my family," Mason told him. His voice was even, but his eyes were full of rage.

"Mason, I saw the police report. It was an accident. There was nothing Neal could have done to change what happened," Peter tried to convince his captor of his partner's innocence. He could tell from his eyes that it wasn't working.

"Do you know what happened to my family after Kara died?" Mason asked, his voice hostile. Peter shook his head, but remained silent. "It fell apart!" Mason growled. "My dad started drinking, my mom got depressed, they completely ignored me, and they never stopped fighting. No matter what I did, no matter how well I did at anything, it made no difference to them. Neal took away my baby sister. Two weeks after he left town, my mom killed herself. After that, my dad went nuts. The second I was done with high school, I left, too, because honestly, I was afraid of my dad. None of that would have happened if Neal had just listened to me and waited out the storm. There's no forgiving that."

"I'm sorry, Mason. I really am," Peter said sincerely. "But what do you hope to accomplish, here? I hate to say it, but Kara's gone. And no matter what you do, she's not coming back."

Mason's eyes flared with rage, and he snatched a gun from the table beside him, aiming it at Peter's head. "You shut up," he growled. "You don't get to say that to me."

Peter kept his face indifferent, calm, even though his heart was racing. "Someone's got to say it, Mason," Peter sighed. "Kara's dead. And killing me, kidnapping Jessica, killing Neal, none of it's going to bring her back."

Peter barely had any time to finish the sentence before Mason squeezed the trigger. The bullet shot out of the barrel of the gun and buried itself in the wall just inches to the left of Peter's head. Peter jumped a few inches into the air, looking at the hole next to his head, realizing how close it had come to killing him. Slowly, he turned back to Mason.

Mason slowly lowered the gun, then set it down on the table again. "Next time I tell you to shut up," Mason's voice was soft and calm, but there was no mistaking the threatening note underneath the words, "I suggest you shut up. Or next time, I won't miss."

Peter let out a ragged breath, trying to slow his machine gun heart.

After a moment, Mason seemed to have calmed down some. "So, how is Jessica doing?" he asked.

"Fine," Peter replied, his voice quiet. "She's doing fine."

"Good," Mason said sincerely. "And Rebecca? How has she been?"

"She's been great," Peter sighed.

"Good," Mason repeated. After a moment, he stood up and grabbed a set of keys from a hook positioned next to the door. They weren't Peters. "Well, I have to go out for a while. Be good while I'm gone. Don't try anything stupid." He smiled venomously at the FBI agent, then walked out the front door.

Peter sighed and let his head fall back against the wall. He had no idea what he was going to do now. He just hoped Neal knew Mason as well as he thought he did, and he could figure out where he was…

* * *

><p>Neal practically ran into the Burke residence as soon as Jones pulled up to the curb. The living room was full of FBI agents, searching high and low for any clue that would lead them to Peter. El sat at the kitchen table, fighting back tears.<p>

"El," Neal said as he approached her. She looked up from the table and got to her feet as soon as she registered Neal's face.

"Neal," she sighed, wrapping him in a hug.

"I am so sorry," Neal said softly.

"You shouldn't be," El said, pulling away and looking him in the eye. "None of this is your fault. It's not like you planned on your former best friend being a psycho."

Neal smiled slightly, nodding, even though guilt still ate at him. "I guess not," he agreed, not because he believed it, but because he really didn't want to argue with her today of all days. "Anything you need, just let me know, ok?"

El nodded, and slowly sat back down.

Mozzie showed up about ten minutes later and offered his services, but the FBI just didn't know what to do next. There was hardly any evidence at the house, apart from a few of Mason's fingerprints and the fact that the tox screen they ran on the still-drowsy Satchmo showed the dog had been drugged.

After about three hours of dead ends, Neal's cell phone rang. Neal glanced at the caller ID. It was Rebecca. Neal excused himself from the group of FBI agents he was talking to, walking slightly away from the chaos before answering the phone.

"Hey, Rebecca," Neal said upon answering. "What's going on?"

"Neal…" Rebecca sounded near tears. Neal's heart skipped a beat.

"Bec, what's wrong?" he asked nervously.

"Hello again, Neal," Neal froze altogether when he heard the voice. From across the room, Jones watched him with curious and concerned eyes. After a moment, he started to make his way over to the consultant.

"Where's Jessica?" Neal asked immediately.

"She's in her room, Neal. At least I'm pretty sure she's in her room. At any rate, she's not with me. Relax," Neal could practically hear Mason rolling his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Neal growled. Jones looked at him questioningly.

"Nothing, right now," Mason said simply. "But that could change at any time." Neal heard Rebecca crying in the background. Mason sighed. "Rebecca, sweetie, please be quiet. I'm trying to have a conversation, here."

Neal visibly tensed. "What do you want, Mason?" he asked.

"Same thing I always wanted, Neal. I want you to pay for what you did. Now, I just wanted to call and say hi, so if you'll excuse me, Rebecca and I have some business to take care off. Goodbye, Neal," Mason's voice was mocking as he hung up the phone.

Slowly, Neal brought the phone away from his ear and hung up. He felt numb all over.

"Neal?" Jones asked, trying to get his attention. Neal didn't respond. "Neal, hey!" Jones said, a little louder this time. Neal snapped out of his trance and looked the agent in the eye. "What happened?"

"Get me to Rebecca's, now," Neal said instead of answering his question. Jones didn't have to be told twice. He called to a few of the other agents, told them where to go, and then he and Neal made their way outside and into Jones' car, taking off onto the street…

* * *

><p>Jones got them both to Rebecca's in just twenty-five minutes. They weren't there for more than two seconds before they realized something was wrong. The two agents parked outside the house both seemed to be sleeping. Jones quickly drew his gun and reached a hand through the window, feeling for a pulse on the agents' necks. They were still alive. Just then, the other agents pulled up and stopped along the curb. Everyone jumped out of their cars, their guns drawn. One was already calling 9-1-1 for the wounded agents. Everyone else made their way towards the front door, except for the few that made their way around back.<p>

"Stay here, Neal," Jones commanded, heading towards the house. Neal waited anxiously as Jones disappeared inside the house.

Each second was agonizing. Every minute felt like a day. Neal paced in front of the car, out of his mind with worry, until finally Jones reappeared in the doorway and motioned for Neal to come inside. Neal jogged up the driveway and burst through the door. Rebecca was sitting on the couch, her arms folded, her body tense. Agents around her were putting pieces of duct tape into evidence bags. Neal could only assume they had been used to bind her.

"Rebecca," Neal sighed in relief when he saw she was alright. Rebecca saw him and stood up, wrapping him in a hug. Neal hugged her back tightly. After a moment, he pulled away. "Where's Jessica?"

"Neal," Jones called. He was standing outside Jessica's door. He waved the con man over. Neal told Rebecca he'd be right back, then walked over to him.

"What is it?" Neal asked nervously.

"Jessica's fine," Jones told him, reading his thoughts. Neal let out a sigh of relief. "But she's locked herself in her closet and won't come out to anyone but you."

Neal nodded in understanding. "Thanks, Jones," he said sincerely.

"No problem, Neal," Jones smiled slightly, then mixed in with the rest of the FBI agents.

Neal took a deep breath, then headed into Jessica's room, making a b-line for the closet. He stopped outside the door and rapped lightly on the wood. "Jessi, sweetheart, it's me," he began. He didn't get a chance to finish the statement, because at that moment the door flew open and Jessica ran out, wrapping her arms around his legs, since that was as high as she could reach. Neal pulled her off and got down on one knee, pulling her into another hug. Jessica was shaking, crying into Neal's jacket.

"It's going to be ok, Jessi…" Neal whispered. "I promise." After a moment, Neal picked her up and took her out into the living room, where Rebecca was waiting with open arms. The family hugged each other, completely oblivious to the chaos going on around them, until finally they stopped and Neal handed Jessica off to her mother. The two of them sat down on the couch, and Neal went to find Jones.

Jones was in the kitchen towards the back of the house, talking to a few FBI agents. There was a manila envelope in his latex glove-covered hand. Neal could see his name written on it in black Sharpie.

"Jones," Neal said, catching the agent's attention. Jones said a few words to the other agents, then made his way over to Neal, envelope in hand. "What's that?"

"It seems that Mason left this for you," Jones said, gesturing to the envelope.

"What's in it?" Neal asked.

"We don't know, we haven't opened it," Jones replied honestly.

Neal quickly borrowed some rubber gloves from one of the agents and put them on, taking the envelope from Jones. He walked over to the kitchen counter, took a deep breath, and pulled out the envelope's contents…


	3. Don't Judge Your Friend

_**"Don't judge your friend until you stand in his place."  
>~Unknown<strong>_

* * *

><p>Neal stared at the articles spread out in front of him. The first was one detailing the accident that had claimed Kara Thomas's life. The second one's headline read: "Local woman hit by car, killed. Police suspect suicide". The last one was titled "Local man takes own life". Each article had a word scrawled across it. The whole message was "You did this". Neal knew it was true. Mason had lost his whole family just because of Neal's bad call to drive everyone home in that storm. It was his fault, and he knew it.<p>

They had been at the house for hours. It was already three in the afternoon. Their investigation had come up with nothing so far, and that was killing him. He stared at the articles on the table in front of him, his heart aching. His partner was out there somewhere with a psychopath that he created, and now he couldn't so much as give any idea how to find him. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Peter because of Mason.

"You didn't do this, Neal," Diana said from behind him. Neal didn't even flinch.

"If I had just listened to Mason…" Neal said softly.

"Stop it, Neal," Diana said sternly. "This is not your fault. You're not going to be any help if you're just sitting around moping and feeling sorry for yourself. Snap out of it and start making yourself useful."

This got Neal's attention. Diana watched as his eyes began to clear up, returning to their usual alertness. His whole demeanor changed when he forced down the guilt that had been controlling him the whole time. There would be time for guilt later. Right now, his friend needed him to be objective.

After a moment, Diana cleared her throat. "Now, you know Mason better than anyone. Where would he go?"

"Somewhere secluded," Neal answered without hesitation. "Definitely away from the city. Definitely along back roads, and more than likely you won't be able to find it on a map."

"So like the cabin?" Diana asked.

Neal shook his head. "No, that could be traced back to him. This place would probably be old, abandoned, and so lost in the system that it would take you months to find it," he said with a sigh.

Diana echoed his sigh. "Great," she muttered. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear…"

"I'm sorry, Diana," Neal said sincerely. "I'll keep trying."

Diana nodded and walked off. They were still at Rebecca's house. Jessica and Rebecca were in the living room. Most of the earlier fear had dissipated, at least for Jessica. She still didn't fully understand what had happened, and Neal thanked God for that. Rebecca was still pretty shaken up, but she was adjusting. She was still nervous about the unlikely possibility that Mason could come back, but Neal had done his best to assure her that everything was going to be ok.

About thirty minutes later, Neal and Jones headed back towards Peter's house. At least, that's where Neal thought they were going. He was confused when Jones came to a stop outside Neal's own house.

"Jones, what are you…?" Neal asked, puzzled.

"Go home, Neal," Jones said gently yet firmly. "We'll let you know if anything comes up."

"Jones, no," Neal protested desperately. "I have to do something, I have to be there!"

"No, you have to go get some rest," Jones said, leaving no room for argument. "I promise, I will call if anything comes up, but until then, you need to get some rest."

Neal opened his mouth to protest some more, then closed it again. He knew it was pointless to argue with him. Frustrated and hesitant, he climbed out of the car and into the chilly November air, banging the door shut behind him. He watched as Jones drove away and disappeared into the New York traffic, then slowly headed inside…

* * *

><p>Peter shivered in the cold of the old house. He had forgotten his coat at the office, and his suit did nothing to hold back the icy chill of November. His breath hung in a cloud in front of his face. His hand were frozen, and he couldn't seem to rub them together hard enough or long enough to generate any warmth.<p>

Finally, he looked up when Mason walked through the front door after being gone for…well, Peter didn't know how long. It felt like days, but he knew that wasn't right. At first, Mason didn't seem to notice his captive as he tossed Peter's keys onto the table and shrugged out of his heavy winter coat, hanging it on a hook beside the door. Then he turned around and saw him, and Peter could see the alarm in his eyes, seeing his almost frozen state. He opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it, disappearing around the corner and into what looked to be a kitchen. Peter heard drawers opening and closing, cabinets swinging open and banging shut. Then, finally, Mason returned with a heavy blanket in his arms. Resting on top of it were a few packages of hand warmers. Without a word, he set the care package down within reach of the agent and headed over towards the table he had been in when Peter woke up. He took his seat, staring out the window, putting his feet up on the sill. It was only then that Peter noticed the picture of Kara taped to the wall next to the window.

Without hesitating, Peter reached for the blanket and hand warmers, awkwardly bending his arm and shoulder to accommodate the pipe in his way, and spread the blanket out over himself before tearing into the package of hand warmers. They were air activated, and Peter welcomed the tingling that came when he began to regain feeling in his fingers.

After a few minutes of silence, Peter spoke up. "So where do your friends back home think you are?" he asked finally.

"What?" Mason asked, confused.

"Your friends back home. The ones you went skydiving, hiking, and deep sea fishing with. Where do they think you are?" Peter asked again.

Mason was quite for a moment, his brain processing the question. Then he smiled, looking down. "On a cruise around the world," he said finally.

"Really?" Peter didn't bother to hide the surprise in his voice.

Mason nodded. "I said I wanted to go somewhere I've never been before, see everything I could before…" his smile faded and he trailed off, his eyes distant.

After another short period of silence, Peter cleared his throat, once again breaking the silence. "So what's your whole plan here, Mason? I'm not really seeing a good outcome here," he said boldly, hesitantly.

Slowly, a smile spread across Mason's face, chilling the agent before him to the bone, slicing through the blanket and straight to the core. He raised his head from the table and met Peter's gaze. "I'm not going to spoil the surprise, Peter," he said finally. "But I will tell you one thing, I'm gonna enjoy it," he smiled and picked up his iPod from the table, putting in first one earphone, then the other, and began scrolling through the songs. "You and Neal might not, but I will. You can count on that." With that, he selected a song and sat back in his seat, looking out the window at the forest and the sun shining down on the trees as it began to set.

Peter gulped and shifted uncomfortably. He had to find a way out of there, but he didn't know how. There was no way he could see to get out of there. And even if there was, he still had to get free of the handcuffs. He sighed and let his head fall back, never feeling more hopeless in his life. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He tried to fight it off, but before he knew it, he was asleep once more…

* * *

><p>Peter woke up to the smell of bacon. He forced his eyes open, his head still aching, still drowsy, and now extremely hungry. He saw Mason sitting at the table, eating a McMuffin sandwich. His stomach growled loudly.<p>

Mason looked up and saw him awake. A smile bloomed across his face. "Peter," he greeted him. "I hope you don't mind, I went out for breakfast before you woke up."

"Oh, no," Peter shrugged. He most certainly did mind, and so did his stomach, but he wouldn't let Mason get to him. "Enjoy. Don't let me stop you."

Mason must have picked up on the sour note in Peter's voice, because he laughed. "Relax, Peter," he chuckled. "I got you one, too." He reached into the McDonald's bag and pulled out a wrapped up McMuffin sandwich, stuck together with a smiley face sticker. He tossed it over to the groggy agent, who caught it and without hesitation tore into the packaging and took a bite. Mason smiled. The two lapsed into silence.

"So tell me about Neal," Mason said finally, taking what was probably his second-to-last bite of McMuffin.

"What about him?" Peter asked, becoming instantly guarded.

"How'd he get involved with the FBI?" Mason clarified. "Well, I mean, I know that you caught him. But I also know that he escaped. So that says to me that he should be in jail," Mason polished off his sandwich and tossed the wrapper in the McDonald's bag. "Why isn't he?"

Peter smiled and laughed, taking another uncomfortable bite of McMuffin, swallowing before he answered. "What makes you think I would tell you?" he asked, his voice even. He quickly finished his sandwich, rolled it up into a ball, took aim, and threw it. It landed perfectly in the McDonald's bag. In spite of his fear, his eyes lit up with surprise and pride at the shot.

Mason laughed softly, looking at the bag. Then he sighed, picked up his gun from the table, and held it in his hand. Peter visibly tensed. "I don't think you really understand how this works. You don't get to say no when I ask you a question. Now, why isn't Neal in jail?"

Peter paused. "He's on a work release program," he said finally.

"So he's the FBI's lap dog?" Mason asked, trying, and failing, to stifle a laugh.

"Essentially, yes," Peter confirmed, smiling uncomfortably.

"Ok, well, if Neal's a dog, then what's his leash?" Mason asked, still smiling. Seeing Peter's confused expression, he sighed. "This can't be a relationship based on blind trust. I barely got out of that warehouse after I shot Neal. The cops were there so fast. He must have done something to tip you off, and somehow I doubt he called ahead."

Peter remained silent. He didn't want to tell anything that he could use against Neal later, but at the same time, he had no doubt in his mind that Mason would shoot him if he didn't say anything, or if he found out he lied. But what harm could come from Mason knowing about Neal's tracking anklet? If anything, it could help some. So, finally, he swallowed and sighed. "He wears a tracking anklet that allows him to go anywhere within a two mile radius of his home. If he steps out of bounds, the police show up in minutes," he told him, his voice even. "Hope that doesn't screw up your plans any."

"Not at all," Mason smiled. "I'll have to change some things around a little, but no big deal. Thanks Peter, you've been a big help."

Peter's jaw set slightly, looking down. That's when he saw it. There was a nail sticking out slightly from the rotting wood floor, maybe three inches to his left. It was a long shot, but if he could somehow find a way to navigate around the pipe he was restrained with, then maybe…

He shot a glance towards Mason. He had turned his chair away from Peter so he could put his feet up on the window sill. His iPod earphones dangled from his ears. Peter could hear the music blasting from them. Moving slowly so he wouldn't draw attention to himself, he shifted forward a little, pressing his shoulder against the pipe, so his arms could have as much range as possible, and turned as much as he could. His fingers barely made it to their destination. Glancing at Mason every few seconds, he began to chip away at the rotting wood surrounding the nail. His jaw clenched as the wood splinters tore at his fingertips, causing them to bleed. Peter didn't care. At least not yet. He was more focused on his goal. The wood around the nail was so rotted, it didn't take long for Peter to get it out of the way. Within minutes, he had pulled it out. He wiped his bloody fingertips on the blanket that was still resting over his legs, shifted back to his original position, and got to work trying to pick the lock on the handcuffs. He stared at Mason while he worked, ready to hide his tool at a moment's notice. It was only a matter of time until he would be free…


	4. You Can Gain a Friend in a Year

_**"You can gain a friend in a year, but lose a friend in a minute."  
>~Unknown<strong>_

* * *

><p>Neal woke up around six in the morning to the sound of his cell phone ringing. Drowsily, he reached over and picked up without looking at the caller ID. "Hello?" he said softly, sounding more awake than he was.<p>

"Good morning, Neal," Mason's voice was wide awake and clear in Neal's ear, filled with a mocking, arrogant tone.

Neal was suddenly wide awake, sitting up in bed. "Mason," he breathed. "Where's Peter?"

"Relax, Neal. He's alive. I imagine he has a headache, but he's alive," Mason said with a slight laugh. Neal's jaw clenched in anger.

"What do you want, Mason?" Neal asked. "What is it that you hope to accomplish here?"

"You know, when I came to New York, I had every intention of killing you. But then, just by chance, I ran into Rebecca on the subway. She left her purse under her seat, and I, being the upstanding citizen I am, returned it to her. She was so grateful that I had given it back that she invited me in for coffee. I saw that little girl, and I couldn't believe it. She looks just like you, you know. Then I saw that picture of you and Rebecca at the park, and…Well, let's just say I came up with an idea that was much better than killing you," Neal was practically strangling the phone in his hand as he listened to Mason's calm, even tone.

"What do you want?" Neal asked again, his voice a little more forceful.

Mason seemed to ignore him, "You see, I decided then that killing you would be letting you off too easily. I wanted you to lose everything you loved. I wanted to break you, like you broke me and my family. I wanted you to feel such loss and guilt that you wished you were dead. And that's what I want now."

"Mason, I am sorry about what happened to Kara. The guilt of it hasn't left me alone for even a minute since it happened. Do you honestly think I just forgot about her and moved on?"

"No, but whatever you're feeling, it's not enough," Mason growled.

Neal sighed helplessly. "Mason, Peter didn't have anything to do with this. Just let him go."

"No can do, Neal," Mason said. Neal could almost see him smiling. "Listen, I've got to go. Say hi to Jessica, Rebecca, Jones, Diana, and El for me, ok? Bye." With that, he hung up before Neal could say anything more.

Slowly, Neal lowered the phone and hung up. It took him only a moment to decide what to do next. He quickly got out of bed and got dressed, then called Jones. He told him what was going on, what had happened.

"I'll pick you up in about ten minutes," Jones said.

"I'll be waiting," Neal replied, pulling on his shoes. Both men hung up, and Neal headed downstairs, waiting outside for Jones to pull up. When he did, Neal climbed in and Jones took off back towards Peter's house.

"He called me from Peter's phone," Neal said when they were half way there, looking at his call history.

"So he turned it back on," Jones said with a smile. "When we tried to trace it earlier, it was off. Let's see if he forgot to turn it off when he was done with it." He took out his cell phone and called one of the FBI's tech nerds. They had the trace in just a few minutes. The phone was still on, and it seemed to be stopped on a back road just twenty minutes from them. Jones called in for back up, and then he and the consultant headed for the coordinates they had been given.

Twenty minutes later, they stopped the car so they were practically on top of the signal from Peter's phone. Agent and consultant exchanged glances, then got out. Looking around, they could see nothing but dirt, grass, and trees. There was literally nothing there.

"Are you sure you got the coordinates right?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Jones snapped.

Neal held up his hands in surrender. "Ok…touchy, touchy…" he muttered. They looked around for a few more seconds before Neal pulled out his cell phone and called Peter's. They heard it ringing.

Jones and Neal exchanged glances, then advanced towards the ringing. They found Peter's phone in the grass, staring up at them. Jones took a latex glove out of his pocket and picked it up with a sigh.

Neal watched him, hanging up his own phone, a growing dread burning in his chest. This was becoming more and more hopeless by the second. He had to find Peter. He couldn't let anything happen to him. It was his fault he was in this mess to begin with. The least he could do was try and help find him.

As the backup Jones had called for arrived, Neal wondered if they were ever going to find him…

* * *

><p>Peter had been working at the locks on the handcuffs for hours. His wrists were scraped raw from struggling against them constantly. Finally, left cuff fell open. Peter unwrapped himself from around the pipe and closed the handcuff so it wouldn't catch on anything. He was free. Quietly, so he didn't disturb Mason, who was still lounging by the window, he unwrapped the duct tape from his ankles, stood up, and crept over towards the table, ready to make a grab for the gun. He flinched at every creak of the floorboards. Finally, he was within reach of the table.<p>

Before he could make his move, though, Mason saw him out of the corner of his eye, and his hand shot out to grab the gun. Peter dove for the gun at the same time, and they reached it simultaneously. Mason came around the table as they struggled to gain control of the gun. Mason shoved Peter away, and he hit the wall behind him hard. But Peter wasn't backing down. He jumped right back and fought tirelessly for the gun.

During the struggle, the gun got knocked away from them, skittering across the rotting wooden floor. Both men dove for it. They clawed at each other, both trying to come out ahead. Despite Peter's best efforts, Mason got there first, grabbing the gun and quickly getting to his feet. Peter wasn't about to simply stand by and let Mason win, though. He scrambled to his feet and quickly punched Mason in the face before he could react. Mason stumbled back, but quickly recovered, just in time for Peter to knee him in the stomach. Mason felt the air get sucked out of his lungs, but by then, instinct had taken over. He reared back and delivered a strong kick to Peter's chest. The agent stumbled back and whacked the back of his head hard on one of the house's antique light fixtures.

Dazed and wounded, tasting blood, Peter watched as Mason raised the gun and pointed it at him. The agent managed to focus his vision long enough to locate Mason, and not one of the clones his injured brain was making him see, and ran at him, slamming him into the door behind him. Peter assumed it led to a closet. Mason grunted in pain, then kneed Peter in the gut. The agent was winded, but not down for the count. Mason was holding the gun up above his head, trying to keep it out of reach. But Peter was taller. He reached up and wrapped his hands around it. The two men wrestled for the gun, elbowing each other, clawing each other, doing everything in their power to gain control of the situation.

And then the shot rang out.

Peter didn't even really feel the bullet pierce his leg until several moments later. Agent and criminal locked eyes. Peter wondered if he showed as much fear in his eyes as he was seeing in Mason's. Peter's hands relaxed from the gun, and he fell to the floor. The blood was already soaking his pant leg and leaking out onto the floor. Peter just prayed his femoral artery hadn't been hit.

Mason just stood there, staring at the wounded agent. His nose was bleeding, his face was cut, and he looked terrified. The hand holding the gun was shaking like a leaf in the fall in the middle of a wind storm. His breathing was short, shaky, and ragged. All the color had drained from his face. He might have been more scared than Peter was at that moment. He looked almost like a child in that instant. Just a terrified child, and not the monster who had almost killed his partner and his partner's daughter five months ago, and who might have just killed him.

"Oh God," Mason gasped. Peter gripped his leg in pain. His hands were instantly soaked in blood. Mason took a small step back. His eyes were full of disbelief. Finally, he seemed to snap out of it. He put the gun down on the table behind him, and made his way over to Peter's side, getting a good look at the wound. Without a word, he stood up and went to the closet they had slammed into in the struggle. He opened it wide and drew out a scarf. Then he returned to Peter's side.

"This is going to hurt," he warned, swatting Peter's hands out of the way and wrapping the scarf around his leg, just above the gushing bullet wound in his thigh. He tied it in the air, then pulled it extremely tight, creating a makeshift tourniquet. Peter cried out loudly, his hands returning to his wound.

"I'm sorry," Mason apologized softly, pulling the scarf tighter still before tying it in a knot. Peter had tears in his eyes. The blood was pooling under him. By then it had soaked into his suit and into Mason's pant legs as he knelt beside the wounded agent.

Mason scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with some rags, a roll of paper towels, and a plastic baggy full of ice. He tore off a bunch of paper towels and folded them into a thick square before returning to the agent's side. He put pressure on the wound, trying to get the bleeding under control. Peter grunted in pain.

"I'm sorry," Mason said softly. Peter realized he was fighting back tears. "I'm so sorry."

Mason looked around. Peter could almost see the gears turning in his head. After a moment, he reached over and grabbed a chair that had toppled over in the struggle. Without taking pressure off the agent's wound, he set it upright once more and gently lifted Peter's leg so it rested on it, elevating the wound. Peter tried to sit up, but Mason pushed him back down with a bloody hand.

"Peter, I know it hurts, but you have to lie flat, ok?" Mason said gently.

After a moment, Peter let go of his wounded leg and let himself lie flat, trying to ignore the burning pain. Meanwhile, Mason's huge wad of paper towels was already soaked. Peter saw him flinch as he swapped out the bloody wad for a clean one. On the bright side, the bleeding was already slowing down.

"I have good news," Mason said twenty minutes later. By then the bleeding had all but stopped. Mason had mostly gotten control of himself. He definitely didn't seem to be scared anymore. Relieved, absolutely, but not scared. "I don't think it got your femoral artery. You'll live." Mason took the paper towels off of the bullet hole and stood up. The front of his pants, from the knees to about the middle of his shin, was soaked in blood.

"You saved my life," Peter said softly, his voice full of disbelief.

Mason looked down, not meeting the agent's gaze, and smiled slightly. "Yeah, well, I couldn't have you dying. Not before the big finale."

Mason's words made Agent Burke uneasy, but he didn't press the issue. He was still dizzy from whacking his head…and possibly from blood loss…or a combination of the two.

Mason disappeared around the corner into the kitchen once more and returned with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a roll of duct tape. He took some paper towels and a bottle of water from the table and washed and dried his hands, and then took about five of the large squares, folded them together into a really thick towel, and then folded that twice into a smaller square. The duct tape on his wrist and hydrogen peroxide in hand, he returned to Peter's side. He unscrewed the cap on the hydrogen peroxide and poured a good amount on Peter's wound. Peter cried out. The liquid stung like acid. It fizzed and bubbled in his wound and felt like a thousand needles poking it at the same time, jabbing into his damaged skin and muscle.

"Sorry," Mason apologized again, this time a lot less desperately. He placed the folded paper towels on the bullet hole, then, with his teeth, pulled out some duct tape. He stuck the end to the paper towels, and while one hand held it, used his free hand to wrap the duct tape around his leg a few times. Peter clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, letting his head fall back against the rotted floor. When Mason was satisfied that it was secure, he tore the tape and stuck it down. Then he stood up.

"Now, I'm going to go get changed, and then I'm going to go out. Can I trust you not to do anything stupid in my absence?" Mason had pretty much returned to his normal, sarcastic, mildly threatening attitude. Peter gave him an 'are you serious' look, glancing at his bloody leg and then back at his captor.

"Right, but, see, I am not going to underestimate you and then have it come bite me in the butt later, so," Mason reached over and gently lowered Peter's leg to the floor, then grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Peter cried out. Mason muttered an apology, then helped the agent limp over to the cot Peter had seen earlier. Peter allowed Mason to help him down onto the dusty mattress. He lowered his head onto the pillow, breathing heavily, feeling as though someone had taken a spear and stabbed it repeatedly through his leg, hitting the same hole every time.

Peter watched as Mason gathered together some pillows and blankets. He used them to elevate his leg. Then he used duct tape to secure his good foot to the bed. He wrapped the duct tape around his ankle a few times, then around the bed frame, then back to his ankle, giving him no mobility at all in that foot. Then he took a key ring out of his pocket and reached over Peter's body to grab his right arm. The handcuffs still dangled from his wrist. He took the handcuff key and unlocked the left cuff. Once that was done, he handcuffed the agent to the bed frame on that side. When that hand was secure, he used the same technique he used on his ankle to bind his right wrist directly to the frame.

Finally finished, Mason stood up, satisfied. He grabbed the bag of ice he had gotten earlier and put it under Peter's head. "Looked like you hit your head pretty hard, there, Agent Burke. That should help some," Mason smiled at him, but it was in no way a kind smile. Then he grabbed Peter's blanket and threw it over him so he would stay somewhat warm. He nodded at Agent Burke, then disappeared around the corner. He came back into view a few minutes later, wearing clean jeans, a plain blue t-shirt, and a heavy coat.

"I'll be back later," he said, grabbing Peter's keys from the table and vanished out the door.

Peter let his head drop back with a sigh, wincing when the bump on the back of his head hit the jagged ice. He had absolutely no way out, now. Now, all he could do was not piss the psycho off anymore, hope he made it out alive, and pray that Neal knew Mason as well as he thought he did…


	5. Glass Ornament

_**"Friendship is like a glass ornament; once it is broken, it can rarely be put back together exactly the same way."  
>~Unknown<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mozzie walked up to the Burke family's front door. He knew there were going to be a lot of suits inside, and that made him nervous, but he considered Elizabeth a friend. He wanted to be there for her and offer whatever help he could. Summoning his courage, he reached up for the doorbell and pressed it. He heard the cheery tune resound inside the house, and soon after, the door opened, revealing Elizabeth. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she had been crying.<p>

"Mozzie," she said, sounding surprised.

"Hello, El," Mozzie said sympathetically.

"What are you doing here?" El asked.

"I just wanted to come by, in case you needed me, and see if I could help at all," he replied, his voice sincere.

El smiled slightly. "Thanks, Moz. Come on in," she moved aside to allow the con man in. She was just about to close the door behind them when someone called out to her.

"Excuse me," Elizabeth turned to see a man coming towards her, a vase of flowers and a clipboard in his hand, dressed in a flower delivery uniform. His name tag identified him as Charlie. "Hi," he said when he made it to the door. "Is there an Elizabeth Burke here?"

"Yeah," El confirmed. "That's me."

"Could you sign here, please?" The man, Charlie, held the clipboard out to her. A pen was pinned under the clip. El nodded and picked up the pen, signing her name on the dotted line at the bottom of the page. She clipped the pen back to the clipboard, then took the flowers Charlie held out to her. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

"You, too," El said with a forced smile. Then she closed the door and walked into the kitchen, Mozzie in tow, and set the flowers on the kitchen table. It was a beautiful arrangement of brightly colored flowers of many varieties. A blue envelope was tucked in amongst the petals. Her name was scrawled across it in neat handwriting. She sighed wearily, took it out, and opened it. It was a letter. Elizabeth unfolded the paper and began to read:

_Dear Elizabeth,  
><em>_I am terribly sorry for all the distress and sadness you have to deal with now because of me. Please believe me when I say that truly was not my intention. I only meant to hurt Neal, but I am sorry that you got caught in the crossfire.  
><em>_Let me just say that your husband is for the most part alright. I wanted you to know that. I just wanted to apologize for all the suffering I have caused you. Whether you accept my apology or not is entirely up to you, but I would understand if you didn't. And now, I would like you to turn the rest of this letter over to Neal.  
><em>_My sincerest apologies,  
><em>_Mason Thomas_

Elizabeth's hands shook as she read the letter. Tears began to roll down her face. Slowly, she set it down on the table.

"El?" Mozzie said softly, concerned. Then, without warning, Elizabeth picked up the vase of flowers and chucked it at the wall with all her strength. The glass shattered, the water spilled out on the floor, and the flowers landed in a heap. All the agents, and Mozzie, jumped in surprise. El sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and sobbed into her hands. Mozzie looked down at the first page of the letter, and felt rage flare up inside him.

At that moment, Neal and Jones walked through the door. The agent and consultant stopped, taking in the confused, sympathetic faces, the anger Mozzie's face displayed, the broken vase and flowers, and Elizabeth, crying her eyes out at the kitchen table.

"What happened?" Jones asked finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Neal," Mozzie waved his friend over. Neal wove his way through the crowd of agents, Jones in tow, coming to a halt beside the shorter man.

"Moz, what happened?" Neal asked softly. Instead of answering, his balding friend simply picked up the letter and handed it to him. Neal quickly read the first page, and felt the same surge of anger Mozzie had felt. How could Mason torture her like that. He wanted to make him suffer, not her. El was off limits. All the guilt he had been forcing down the whole time gave way to anger.

Finally, Neal gathered himself enough to read the next page:

_Hello, Neal. I think it's time we meet up again, you know, for old time's sake. But, I have some rules. Follow them, and we should all get along just fine. Break them, and you will never find your FBI friend alive.  
><em>_Rule #1: Neal alone will be the one to complete the instructions after I finish explaining the rules. If I see any cops or agents, and I will be watching, then Peter dies. If anyone tries to follow him, Peter dies. If anyone interferes in any way…well, you know the drill.  
><em>_Rule #2: Neal will not be wearing a wire. If I find one, and I will look, Peter will die.  
><em>_Rule #3: Neal cannot be wearing his tracking anklet. If I find out he is…well, you know what will happen.  
><em>_Rule #4: No cell phone, or any other item that can be used to alert the FBI to Neal's location.  
><em>_Rule #5: Don't be an idiot. I could, and, if I have to, will, kill Agent Burke in an instant. Don't try anything you…or Peter…might regret later.  
><em>_Well, now that we understand each other, on to the instructions. They will be short, because you will receive more as you go:  
><em>_Come alone to the parking lot of Jessica's school at nine tonight. There is a pay phone just down the street. There will be a set of car keys in the coin return. Take them. They belong to a black Ford Contour. When you get in, you will receive more instructions.  
><em>_I look forward to seeing you again, Neal. Just like old times.  
><em>_-Mason_

Neal slowly pulled his eyes away from the page. Jones and Mozzie had been reading over his shoulder, and now the three men exchanged glances. They all knew it was a trap. But this was Peter, and Neal knew he had to do what Mason was asking of him. After Jessica, he had promised himself he wouldn't let Mason hurt anyone else he cared about. He had to get Peter back. No matter what it cost…

* * *

><p>"No, Neal," Jones and Diana said simultaneously. They were back at FBI headquarters in a meeting room with Hughes and about a half dozen other agents that Neal didn't recognize. It was already seven at night. They had been arguing for over two hours.<p>

"Guys, we don't have a choice," Neal sighed. It had to be the thousandth time he said it.

"We are not going to let you just run off with no backup!" Diana said firmly.

"You have to!" Neal protested. "This is Peter!"

"You seem pretty eager to get out there, Mr. Caffrey," one of the other agents said. His hair was thinning out on top. Resting on his rather large nose was a pair of bifocals. Looking at him, Neal thought of the stuck up, bratty British rich kids he used to see on TV. "How do we know this isn't just an excuse for us to take off your anklet so you can run?"

This got Neal angry, but he didn't let himself blow up. He kept his voice even, as he spoke. "Oh, yeah, that makes sense. I hired my ex-best friend to kidnap a daughter I didn't know I had, then I had him shoot and kill me, almost kill my daughter, and then almost kill me yet again. And then, after five months, I decided that kidnapping my friend would be a good way to make a run for it, so of course I employed my psycho killer ex-best friend because that worked out so well last time," Neal's words were practically acidic. "Real nice detective work, there, easy to see why you made the cut here."

"Enough," Hughes interjected. "Caffrey, do you think you can get Mason to bring you to Burke?"

Neal nodded. "He wants me to suffer, and he knows that watching him…hurt Peter will be the best way to do it," Neal said, his voice growing softer as the sentence went on. He looked down at the table, and didn't meet anyone's eyes.

Hughes hesitated, then nodded. "Ok, then we'll do it," he said finally. Everybody instantly started talking at once, telling him at it was a bad idea. "Everybody, shut up!" Hughes snapped, losing his patience. It had the desired effect. A hush instantly fell over the room. "Caffrey, you will be anklet free, but you'll be wearing a watch that will allow us to track you. You can turn it on and off by pressing the button on the side. We will be following about two and a half miles behind you, but when you get to Burke, turn the watch off and then on twice, and we'll move in. An ambulance will be waiting in the wings."

Neal nodded. "Got it," he agreed.

Hughes paused. "I know he was your friend once, Neal, but don't try and talk him down. It's just going to end badly for everyone," he said softly.

"You don't have to tell me that, Hughes," Neal said evenly, meeting the FBI man's gaze. "I know him better than anyone. And you're right, he was my friend before. I still thought of him as my friend for a long time after the accident. But that all changed when he killed me, even if it was just for a minute and a half, and tried to do the same to my daughter. Of all the things I want to do to him, talking him down so he doesn't get hurt sure as hell is not one of them."

Hughes nodded in understanding. There was a pause. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" Hughes asked finally. "We've got an hour to get all set up. Let's get to it."

Everybody stood up and started moving, except for Jones and Neal. They waited in the meeting room for Diana to return with the watch. When she did, Jones and Neal exchanged glanced. Then Neal put his foot up on a chair and Jones unlocked his anklet. Neal slipped the watch over his hand and settled it on his wrist, clasping it in place. Already, his heart was racing…

* * *

><p>Neal pulled Jessica into a tight hug, giving her a kiss on the top of the head. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he said softly. "I love you. So much." Jessica was going to bed early that night after the day's unexpected, stressful events. After a lot of begging and pleading, Hughes had agreed to let Neal stop by Rebecca's before he left. Jones was waiting by the door.<p>

"Goodnight, Daddy," Jessica said sweetly. Then she ran off to her room, waiting for Rebecca to come tuck her into bed.

Neal and Rebecca stood up. For a moment, they didn't say a word, just staring into each other's eyes.

Finally, Neal spoke up. "I should go," he said quietly. He turned and started toward the door.

"Neal," Rebecca grabbed his arm, stopping him. For a heartbeat, they were silent again as Neal turned back to her. "Jessica needs her father," she said finally. "Just…promise me you'll be careful."

Neal looked at her sympathetically, then wrapped her in a hug. "I promise," he whispered. After a moment, he pulled away and walked back towards Jones. It was time to go…

* * *

><p>Neal approached the payphone down the street from Jessica's school as he had been instructed to do, and checked the coin return. Sure enough, the keys were waiting for him, just like Mason said they would be. He picked them up and walked to the parking lot, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his ears.<p>

Neal found the car without difficulty, and quickly unlocked it, but hesitated before climbing in, his hand on the door handle. He knew the FBI was watching his every move, but so was Mason. He couldn't make any mistakes. He took a deep breath, calmed himself down a little, then finally opened the door and climbed inside.

The second he had settled himself in the driver's seat, he felt something cold touch the back of his neck through the gap between the headrest and seat, and a moment later, he heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Hello, Neal," Mason's smug voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Neal. "It's good to see you again."


	6. Venomous Snake

**_"A friend is someone who, upon seeing another friend in immense pain, would rather be the one experiencing the pain than to have to watch their friend suffer."  
>~Unknown<em>**

* * *

><p>Neal's already-fast heartbeat kicked into an even higher gear. "Hi, Mason," he said finally, sounding much more confident than he felt. "I wish I could say I was glad to see you."<p>

"Aww, that's a little harsh, don't you think?" Mason chuckled, the barrel of his gun never leaving Neal's spine.

"You killed me and tried to do the same to my daughter," Neal growled.

"Well, obviously I didn't kill you, I mean, you're sitting right there," Mason rolled his eyes.

"I was dead for a minute and a half after you shot me in the warehouse," Neal said icily.

"Really? Hmm…now I don't feel like such a failure," Mason smiled. "Alright, enough small talk. Start the car and pull out onto the highway. I'll tell you where to get off."

Neal took a ragged breath, then did as he was told. The car shuddered to life, and, glancing over his shoulder out the back window, he pulled out of his parking space. Before long, he was on the highway, taking orders from the psycho in the back seat with the gun aimed at his spine. After they pulled onto a back road, Mason told him to stop the car. Neal did as he was told, putting it in park but leaving the engine running.

"Get out," Mason commanded. Trying to remain as calm as possible, Neal obeyed, getting out just as Mason did, turning around to face him. It was then that he saw the gun had a silencer. This knowledge did nothing to put him at ease.

Mason studied him. After a few minutes of silence, Mason finally spoke, "Tie, jacket, belt, watch, shoes."

"Uh…" Neal said, puzzled. "What are…things that you wear with a suit…?" he guessed, taking the comical route.

"Very funny," Mason said with a sigh. "Tie, jacket, belt, watch, shoes. Take them off."

"What?" Neal asked in panic.

"I want to make sure we're not followed," Mason explained. "Now do it."

Reluctantly, Neal obeyed, throwing each item onto the ground. He hesitated with the watch, but soon dropped it down with them, too.

Mason smiled, satisfied, "Good. Now we can go."

The two men got back in the car, and on command, Neal started off once more…

* * *

><p>"Neal's signal hasn't moved in twenty minutes," Jones said into a small microphone on his sleeve. "Should we move in?"<p>

"Wait until he gives the signal," Hughes told him. His voice was clear through the earpiece in his ear.

"But he could be hurt," Diana pointed out, speaking into her own microphone. "He might not be able to signal us."

Hughes paused. "Alright, Diana and Jones move in, quietly. Everyone else hold your positions," he agreed.

Jones stepped on the gas slightly. About twenty feet from where the watch said Neal was, he stopped and he and Diana got out, guns drawn, rushing forward. It didn't take long for them to reach the pile of Neal's belongings.

"Hughes," Diana said, picking up Neal's abandoned watch. "We have a problem."

* * *

><p>After about half an hour, Neal reached a ramshackle house tucked deep in the woods.<p>

"We have arrived," Mason said with a satisfied sigh as Neal put the car in park and killed the engine. "Let's go."

The two former friends climbed out of the car, and, his gun aimed at Neal's back, Mason ushered Neal into the house. Neal did his best to ignore all the things stabbing into the bottom of his feet as he pushed open the front door.

Neal saw Peter in the bed instantly. His machine-gun-heart skipped a beat in alarm. "Peter," he said urgently, taking a few rushing steps toward his friend.

"Neal," Mason's warning cry stopped Neal in his tracks. Slowly, he turned around to face the man who had, more than once, tried to claim his life. His eyes burned with rage. Mason seemed to find this amusing as a smile slowly spread across his face. "Back away from him," he commanded.

Neal glanced at his wounded friend, and they locked eyes. Peter's eyes were so full of pain, and Neal felt a bitter pang of guilt. "No," Neal said firmly. "I'm not going to leave him."

Mason flicked his gun just a few inches to the right and fired, a sound that was closer to a cat sneezing than a gunshot. It passed so close to Neal's left ear that he felt the rush of air as it passed him.

"I said, back away," Mason growled.

"Neal," Peter's voice sounded hoarse and quiet. Neal flinched and turned to look at his friend. "Go," he urged. He couldn't stand to see his friend get hurt.

"Back," Mason commanded. "Toward the far wall," Mason motioned to the wall opposite Peter's bed. Neal hesitated for just a moment longer, then backed up, like he was told. He stopped when his back hit the wall.

Mason smiled, then, with his free hand, grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and made his way over to Peter.

"What did you do?" Neal asked, his voice accusing.

"Now, don't get mad at me," Mason said innocently. "Your partner here got loose, tried to go for the gun, and in the struggle the gun went off and shot him in the leg."

Neal clenched his jaw, his hands in fists at his sides, as Mason sat down on the edge of Peter's bed. He set the gun in his lap, and with the scissors cut up Peter's sleeve, both his jacket and the shirt underneath, up to just past his elbow. Peter tried to struggle, to get away, but the duct tape and handcuffs held fast. He could barely move.

"What are you doing?" Neal asked in alarm. Mason didn't respond. He stood up, set the scissors on the table, and swapped them out for a syringe filled with an amber colored liquid.

"Do you know what I did with my life after you destroyed it, Neal?" Mason asked.

Neal sighed. Seeing he had no choice, he played along. "No, I don't," he said finally.

"I became a scientist," Mason answered proudly. "Studying snakes and developing anti-venoms." Neal and Peter exchanged worried glances. "After the doc told me I had eight months to live," Mason began.

"Wait, what?" Neal interrupted.

"What? Oh," Mason sighed, "brain cancer. Different story. Anyway, I started hunting you down, and I thought of all things I could do to you when I found you. And then I had this idea. I have access to the world's most deadly venoms. If I could isolate certain components in the venom, I could create the ultimate toxin. It only took me a month to get the formula down, but when I tested it, it killed too fast. I wanted to make it slow. So, I added my own special component, and it was perfect. Instead of half an hour to kill, it took sixteen to twenty-four hours. Anyway, so I finally managed to track you down, and I thought I was going to give it to you, but, well, you know that story, and I couldn't quite bring myself to use it on Jessica, so…" he turned to Peter and patted him on the shoulder with a smile. "Congratulations, Peter, you win."

"Mason, wait," Neal began.

Mason held up the syringe. "Do you know what this is, Neal?" He asked, cutting him off. He didn't wait for an answer. "This is a combination of the venom of the Yellow Jawed Tommygoff, the Inland Taipan, and the Indian Krait, three of the top ten most deadly snakes on earth. Over the next sixteen to twenty-four hours, it will very slowly, very gradually, cause Peter here extremely painful internal hemorrhaging, the gradual paralysis of his respiratory system, so after a while, he'll just be gasping for air, but won't be able to get any, and finally severe abdominal cramps accompanied by the gradual paralysis of the rest of his body."

"Mason," Neal said again. "Please…don't do this…"

"She didn't die on impact like Josh and Emma did, Neal. Do you know that?" Mason ignored Neal's pleas. "The car was upside-down. You were unconscious in the driver's seat. Josh was dead in the passenger's seat, Emma was dead between me and Kara in the back seat, and Kara…she was gasping for air, looking at me with terrified eyes. Reaching out to me. But I couldn't reach her. My arm was pinned. I had to watch her die. She was alive for two whole minutes. I watched her die for two minutes."

"Mason, you're right," Neal said, surprising both Peter and Mason. "I screwed up. If it weren't for me, Kara would be alive right now. And since then, I've done a lot of bad things that hurt a lot of people. But Peter…Well, I honestly don't think he's capable of doing anything truly wrong. He is the most honest, trustworthy person I have ever met. He has people who care about him, who need him. I, on the other hand, don't."

Finally, Peter understood where his partner was going with this. His eyes widened in fear. "Neal," he said desperately. Neal glanced at him, quickly meeting his gaze. Peter shook his head in horror. "Don't…What about Jessica and Rebecca?"

"He's got a point there," Mason grinned.

"They got along fine without me for eight years," Neal said indifferently, even though Peter knew Neal was anything but indifferent about this. "They can deal again. Mozzie and Sara will be able to move on without me. And let's face it, no one really liked me at the FBI anyway. Mason, I did this. Don't make Peter pay for my mistakes. I know you, Mason, and you're a lot of things, but a cold-blooded killer is not one of them. Peter has done nothing to you." Hesitantly, his heart racing, he took a couple steps forward and held out his hand. Warily, Mason raised his gun, aiming it at Neal's heart. "Give me the syringe and I'll do it myself if you won't."

Mason paused, as if considering. Then he smirked. "No," he said with a laugh. Neal drew a breath, looking from Peter to Mason and back. "I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to watch Peter die, but not be able to do anything about it."

"Mason," Neal began, walking swiftly toward him. Mason raised his gun again, and Neal stopped, his hands in the air.

"Back up, Neal," Mason growled. Neal hesitated, looking at Peter helplessly. Then, finally, he did as he was told, backing up to the wall again. "I haven't even told you the best part. I made an anti-venom." Mason watched as Neal's eyes widened and he glanced at Peter. "I hid it somewhere close to you. Now you're going to watch Peter die, and know that you could have saved him, if you had just thought a little harder." With that, Mason turned his attention to Peter's arm. He had no trouble finding a vein in the crook of the agent's arm. Peter tried to get away, terror in his eyes, but he didn't stand a chance.

"Mason, no!" Neal cried, starting toward them. Mason grabbed the gun, whipped it around, and fired. The bullet simply grazed Neal's shoulder. It didn't seriously hurt him; it was just a warning shot. But it certainly stung.

"How many times are we going to have to do this, Neal?" Mason asked with a threatening laugh. "Back against the wall. Now!"

"Mason, please," Neal begged, tears in his eyes. He looked at Peter's terrified face and felt his heart race a little. He had to protect his friend.

"Back, Neal," Mason growled. Reluctantly, he backed up to the wall, looking helplessly at his partner.

Mason turned back to his work. He found another vein, inserted the needle, and injected the synthetic venom.

"Peter…" Neal whispered, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. The two friends locked eyes. "I'm so sorry…"

"Ah, don't worry, Neal," Mason smiled, standing up, gun in hand. "He has about fifteen minutes before he starts showing any symptoms."

Neal turned to Mason, his expression blank. Then, an uncontrollable wave of rage washed over him, and he ran at his former friend, disarming him in an instant and knocking him away from Peter. Mason went sprawling on the floor. Neal raised the gun and aimed it at his chest.

Mason laughed, "Are you going to kill me, Neal? I thought you didn't like guns." He slowly got to his feet, using the table to brace himself.

Mason was right about one thing. Neal didn't like guns. The metal felt cold and heavy in his hand, evil in some way.

"Well go on," Mason taunted. "Do it if you're going to do it. Don't just stand there like a dumb monkey."

Peter watched Neal with horror in his eyes. And then he realized he wasn't going to shoot him. He couldn't. Neal's mind was in turmoil. It was written all over his face.

"No?" Mason smiled. "Well, alright, then." There was a moment's pause. Then, suddenly, Mason raised the heavy, sharp fabric scissors he had used to cut Peter's suit, and ran at Neal, ready to attack. Neal didn't have time to think about what he should do. Instinct took over. He squeezed the trigger twice, and Mason fell to the ground, dead.

Neal stared at Mason's body in shock. Slowly, he lowered the gun and let it clatter to the floor. He took a step back, unable to believe what he had done.

"Neal," Peter gasped. Neal blinked a few times, snapping out of his trance. He rushed to his friend's side.

"Peter," Neal said breathlessly. His hands were shaking. Blood ran down the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes were wild and scared. "Are you ok?"

"I'll be fine," Peter assured him. Neal gave him a doubtful glance.

"I'll be right back, ok," Neal said quietly. "I'm going to go find help."

Peter nodded in understanding, and Neal got to his feet, running out the door, gripping his wounded arm in pain. Neal ran along the gravel path, ignoring the sharp stones piercing the skin on the bottom of his feet, causing him to leave bloody footprints behind him.

After he had gone for a little while, Neal stopped, exhausted, and shouted loudly, "Jones! Diana! Hughes! Somebody!" he waited for an answer, but got none, so he tried again. Still no answer, so he started running again. After a few minutes, he stopped and called again. This went on for about ten minutes, until, finally, he got an answer.

"Neal!" It was Jones who answered him at last. "Where are you?"

"Jones! I'm over here!" Neal shouted. It didn't take long for Jones to find him.

"Oh my God, Neal, are you ok?" Diana asked when the pair finally reached him.

"Where's Peter?" Jones asked.

"There's a house," Neal told them breathlessly, pointing on down the path. "Down there. He's in trouble, guys…"

"And Mason?" Diana asked.

Neal hesitated, fear flashing in his eyes. "He's…He's dead…" Neal told them, his voice just above a whisper.

"Alright, Neal, you go down that way," Diana pointed in the way she and Jones had come. "And get to the ambulance."

"No," Neal shook his head. "I'm going back to Peter."

"Neal, you're hurt, go back to the ambulance," Jones said firmly.

"Look, we have to bring the ambulance down for Peter, anyway," Diana sighed. "Why don't you just come along?"

Neal nodded, and the three of them ran off down the road, a fresh adrenaline rush lending Neal new strength. They reached the house in only seven minutes, and together, they rushed inside. By then it had already started.

Peter's eyes were crazed, full of pain and fear. He was breathing rapidly, sweating, and struggling violently against his restraints. His right wrist was bleeding from the handcuffs biting into his flesh.

"Peter!" Neal cried desperately, grabbing the scissors from Mason's dead hand and cutting his left wrist free, as well as his ankle. Meanwhile, Diana took her handcuff key and freed his other wrist. Peter screamed in agony. Neal looked like someone had just shot him. "Peter, what's wrong?"

"It's…like I'm…getting stabbed," Peter gasped, pawing at his stomach as if to make sure he wasn't.

"Neal, what's going on?" Jones asked.

"The bastard made his own synthetic snake venom using the venom of three of the top ten most venomous snakes on Earth," Neal told them, his eyes never leaving Peter.

"How long do we have?" Diana asked, her voice shaky.

"Sixteen to twenty-four hours," Neal choked out.

"What kind of snake does that?" Jones whispered as Peter cried out again.

"I don't know," Neal said softly, "but it's only going to get worse…"


	7. Never Dead in Your Heart

_**"True friends are the ones who never leave your heart, even when they leave your life for a while. Even after years apart, you pick up right where you left off, and even if they're dead, they're never dead in your heart."  
>~Unknown<strong>_

* * *

><p>Neal sat on the back of the second ambulance, his expression blank as one of the EMTs patched up his arm. He kept repeating everything that had happened over and over in his head. There was something Mason said that was bugging him. 'You could have saved him if you thought a little harder'. He had to think harder. He had to figure it out. There was no time for mistakes.<p>

"Think…come on, Neal, think…" Neal muttered under his breath. Suddenly, he lashed out, slamming his fist on the metal side of the ambulance. "Damn it!" he cried, not because of the pain, because to be honest, he felt no pain, but because he was too frustrated that he couldn't figure it out.

"Hey, Neal," Diana said sharply. Neal slowly lifted his gaze to look at her. "What is going on with you?"

"I could figure it out. I should be able to figure it out. But the one time Peter needs my help and I can't get a grip," Neal growled.

"Ok, you have to go home," Diana said, gently leading him toward the car. Neal jerked his arm away from her.

"No," he refused. "I have to figure this out."

"Neal, you just shot someone you used to be best friends with," Diana said gently. "You're not functioning at your highest ability. Just get some rest."

"There's no time," Neal said, frustrated.

"Neal, go home," Diana told him sternly.

"No!" Neal shouted, losing his temper. "I have less than sixteen hours to figure out where Mason put the anti-venom! If I don't, Peter could die!"

"We have agents going over every inch of this house and the one Mason was in five months ago. You can do your thinking at home while you rest," Diana said, leaving no room for argument.

Neal, of course, found room. "I want to go see Peter," he stated simply.

"Neal, no," Diana sighed. Neal cut her off.

"Just take me to see him," he said softly, his voice weary. "Please."

Diana hesitated. Then she sighed. "Ok. Come on," she said, nodding toward the car. Neal smiled, hopped down from the ambulance, and walked over to the passenger door, pulling it open and climbing inside…

* * *

><p>Neal looked through the window at Peter, lying in the hospital bed. El was by his side, fighting back tears. Peter definitely looked in pain, but thanks to the morphine, he wasn't screaming anymore. The guilt was clawing at his insides as he watched his partner try to put on a brave face and smile at his wife, even though Neal knew he was in unimaginable pain. Finally, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door before opening it and poking his head in.<p>

Peter looked up from El's face and forced a smile at Neal. "Hey, El," he said softly, his voice strained. "Can I talk to Neal alone for a second?"

El nodded, standing up. Still fighting back tears, she turned and walked out the door. As she left, she cast Neal a sympathetic glance. This only made his guilt worse. Why should she feel sorry for him? Because of him, her husband could very well die. Because of him, Peter was in so much pain not even the highest dose of morphine the doctors could give him could hide it.

After a moment of hesitation, Neal took a seat beside Peter's bed. They were quiet for a while. "How're you holding up?" Neal asked finally.

"Morphine's certainly taking the edge off," Peter said with a forced smile. Then his smile faded. "I don't want El to know, but…it's getting worse, Neal. I can only imagine what it would be like without the morphine. I can't move my toes anymore. It's starting to get harder to breathe…" his voice trailed off. Every word he spoke seemed to take an enormous amount of effort.

Neal flinched. "I'm so sorry, Peter…" he whispered.

"I don't blame you, Neal," Peter said seriously. "I blame Mason. You did everything you could…But I don't want to die, Neal. Not like this."

"I'm not going to let that happen," Neal said firmly, almost growling, even though some part of him wasn't so sure. "I'm going to find the anti-venom. I promise."

"I know you will," Peter said with a slight smile. "I know…But I have to ask, Neal. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," Neal lied.

"Don't lie to me," Peter called his bluff.

Neal sighed. "I will be. Now I have to go save your life," he said, standing up.

"Neal, do me a favor," Peter said, pausing a moment as another wave of pain washed over him. "Go fast."

Neal nodded and left the room, casting an apologetic glance at Elizabeth as he passed her…

* * *

><p>It was eight at night the day after Peter was poisoned. The FBI had found nothing at either location, no clue as to where Mason had put the anti-venom. They had nothing.<p>

Peter had to be put in a chemically-induced coma, because the morphine was doing nothing to help his pain. He also had to be put on a ventilator, because his lungs were no longer operating the way they should. Before they put him in the coma, Peter had said he couldn't move his legs at all.

Neal had already missed the sixteen hour mark. He only had about two and a half hours to figure out where Mason had put the anti-venom, maybe and probably less. They were in uncharted territory. Peter could die at any minute. To be honest, Neal was surprised he had held out this long.

Neal paced the floor of his apartment, racking his brain, trying to think of something, anything, that would tell him where to look. His brain was throbbing from all the strain he was putting on it. But he wasn't slowing down.

Neal couldn't help but jump when his phone rang. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the cell phone on the kitchen table, his heart pounding. Fearing the worst, he expected it to be Jones, Diana, or worse, Elizabeth, calling to tell him that Peter was dead. Slowly, he walked towards it, reaching out with a shaking hand to pick it up. To his relief, Rebecca's name was displayed on the caller ID. With a shaking sigh, he answered.

"Rebecca, what's going on?" he asked in greeting.

"Neal," Rebecca sounded relieved. Neal could hear Jessica crying in the background, a sound that always made him flinch a little. "I wasn't sure you'd pick up, with what's going on with Peter and all."

"What's wrong?" Neal asked nervously.

"Well, Jessica had a nightmare," Rebecca sighed. "I know you're busy, but I can't calm her down. She won't calm down until she sees you."

Neal sighed, looking at the clock. There was a pause. "Alright," he agreed finally. "I'll be there in ten minutes." With that, Neal hung up and left the house, starting the not-very-long walk to Rebecca's, a mile and a half away…

* * *

><p>Neal sat on Jessica's bed as she sobbed into his shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf. Neal did his best to sooth her, rubbing her back and holding her close.<p>

Finally, she calmed down enough to pull away and sit up. Neal sighed, "Are you going to be ok?" he asked softly.

Jessica nodded, wiping her blue eyes, so similar to Neal's own. "I dreamt the monster came to get me, like he did after piano."

Neal looked at her sympathetically. He knew she was talking about Mason. He pulled her into a tight hug. "The monster is never going to hurt you again," he said softly. "I promise. He's never going to hurt you again. Ever."

Jessica smiled up at him. "Thanks, Daddy," she said sweetly. Neal smiled and gave her a kiss on the top of the head.

"Now get some rest, ok?" he said with a smile.

"Ok, Daddy," Jessica smiled, climbing under the covers. Neal smiled back and stood up, looking around.

Seeing all her drawings, Neal was once again struck by how amazing she was at it. He walked around the perimeter of the room, looking at the shelves and walls, full of her framed work. The subjects were so real and lifelike it looked like they could jump off the page at any moment and start talking. Not bad for a girl who could barely write her name legibly.

After a moment, Neal stopped. But this time it wasn't a picture that caught his eye, it was a wooden sign that Jessica had painted. The sign read 'Friends Forever', and it was leaning against the wall behind the shelf it rested on, surrounded by pictures of Jessica with her friends. On a hunch, Neal picked it up and held it in his hands, staring at its painted face. Then he turned it over, and his heart skipped a beat.

Taped to the back, was a vial of amber liquid, and taped underneath it was a piece of paper with a note from Mason:

_Congratulations.  
><em>_-Mason_

With a shaking hand, Neal pulled the vial from the wood, afraid that if he touched it, it would disappear like a mirage.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Jessica asked from her bed.

Neal didn't answer. He just set the sign back in its place and went over to Jessica, picking her up. "Rebecca," he called, walking out into the hallway.

"Neal, what is it?" Rebecca asked, poking her head in from her room.

"Get me to the hospital," Neal commanded. "Now!"

Rebecca didn't have to be told twice. She quickly went into the living room, grabbed her keys, and went out the door, Neal close on her heals. Once outside, she quickly unlocked the car. Neal put Jessica in her car seat, more than likely setting a world record for clipping the complicated straps into place, and jumped into the passenger seat as the engine roared to life. Rebecca quickly pulled onto the road and took off in the direction of the hospital, running several red lights and speeding.

"Sweetie," She said, glancing in the rearview mirror at her daughter. "Never drive like Mommy is right now, ok?"

"Ok, Mommy," Jessica said sweetly, laughing slightly.

Neal smiled slightly, but not whole-heartedly. He just kept praying he wasn't too late to save his friend.

Ten minutes into the journey, Diana called Neal's phone.

"What are you doing outside your radius, Neal?" she asked accusingly, not even giving Neal time to say hello. Before he left the hospital the night before, she had insisted on putting Neal's anklet back on.

"I'm with Rebecca," Neal said breathlessly. "I – Watch out, watch out, WATCH OUT!" he cried as Rebecca tore through a busy intersection and right through a dead-red light. Horns blasted, but they managed to avoid a collision. Neal let out a shakey sigh of relief. "I appreciate the rush, Evil Kenevil, but I'd very much like to live to make it to the hospital," he sighed.

"Neal, what's going on?" Diana asked, concerned.

"I found it, Diana," Neal told her. "I found the anti-venom."

"Then tell Rebecca we'll take care of all tickets, and to go faster," Diana said urgently.

"Why?" Neal asked nervously.

"We didn't want to tell you, Neal," Diana sighed. "But Peter's fading fast. The doctors…they don't even think he'll last the next hour."

Rebecca slammed on the brakes, pitching everyone forward, as they reached the hospital. Neal hesitated, trying to catch his breath. "Then it's a good thing I'm here," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car, anti-venom in hand, not even bothering to close the door. He hung up the phone and raced into the hospital, running faster than he had ever run before in his life, despite the many cuts and bruises on the bottoms of his feet. He bypassed the elevator and shot up the stairs to the second floor as if the devil himself were chasing him. Finally, he came to a stop outside Peter's door. The doctors, as well as Hughes, Diana, Jones, and Elizabeth, were waiting for him. Trying to catch his breath, he handed the bottle to the doctors.

"I don't suppose Mason told you how much to give him when you got it to us," one of the doctors said casually. Neal already decided he didn't like him. Glaring at him, he snatched the anti-venom from his hand and showed him the bottom of the bottle, where Mason had written the dosage needed to undo the damage done.

"We'll take good care of him, Neal," Doctor Rhae told him. He had treated Neal five months earlier when he had almost gotten killed. Still breathing heavily, Neal placed the bottle in Rhae's outstretched hand.

"I just hope it's not too late," the first doctor said. If looks could kill, then the doctor would have been dead from the glare Neal had fixed him with.

The two doctors disappeared inside Peter's room. The group gathered around the window and watched as Doctor Rhae administered the anti-venom. They could only hope that Neal's help hadn't come too late…

* * *

><p>Neal watched the casket get lowered into the ground as an overwhelming sadness washed over him. In spite of himself, he felt a tear escape the corner of his eye. He quickly wiped it away. He just couldn't believe his friend was gone. Maybe if he had gotten to him sooner…<p>

Just then, Peter came up behind him and put a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder. "You ok?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah," Neal said. "Thanks for taking me to the funeral. I know you weren't Mason's biggest fan…I wasn't, either, really, but…"

"You still wanted to say goodbye to the friend you knew," Peter supplied for him. Neal nodded.

"I can't believe it's finally, truly over," Neal said softly.

"Me either," Peter admitted. "But I'm glad it is."

Neal glanced at the headstone. It was simple. Mason's friends had chipped in to get it for him. They managed to get a plot next to Kara and his parents in Pennsylvania. It simply read:

_Mason Thomas_

_Beloved friend, dearly missed, and free at last_

Followed by his date of birth and date of death. Neal stared at the date of death, the date he had shot his former friend to death and the day before his current friend almost died.

"That date's wrong," Neal said softly after a long moment of silence. Peter looked at him strangely. "The man I knew died long before that," he sighed.

Peter nodded in understanding. There was another pause. "Come on," he said at last. "We should go."

Neal nodded, and the two men made their way back to Peter's car. Before he climbed into the passenger's seat, Neal cast another glance at the grave.

"Goodbye," he whispered. He hesitated for a moment longer, then climbed into the car, shutting the door behind him. Seconds later, Peter's car drove out to the highway and disappeared from sight…

The End.


End file.
